A sound sleeper, she was not roused by the creaky openings and closings of drawers as Lucy packed a single duffle bag with underwear and soap that was pilfered from a multipack of Zest in the Beck’s downstairs bathroom. ‘But a spy I am not. Tell Lucy about the time you were nine years old and blew up the house, John. I think that you might break Martin’s heart if you don’t. She was saying good-bye to childhood and home, and her making; she was going out into the great, multitudinous world; this time there would be no returning. Maggot, who promptly interposed her cudgel. ‘Eh bien, I will tell you.
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